


I Need You (To Blaspheme For Me)

by castielslovesong



Series: A Pirates Life For Us [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, First Time, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Kissing, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pure and simple, Smut, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1963368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielslovesong/pseuds/castielslovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas get back to the Impala.</p><p>Sexy times ensue.</p><p>Sex with feelings umu</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Need You (To Blaspheme For Me)

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing smut... *hides*
> 
> The issues brought up by Alastair and Michael etc etc with be addressed in the next chapter thing. I promised you smut, so here's your smut.
> 
> Let me know what you think.

They haven't been pulled up two moments before they were on each other, chilled from the torture and the unforgiving grasp of the sea. Benny clears his throat, shooing them away while the girls giggle and (Kevin in particular) everyone looks in varying degrees of uncomfortable. 

It's not perfect. The kisses are messy, frantic, and desperate. With too much teeth, bumping noses, wandering hands ravishing clothing before they're properly off deck and in Dean's quarters. What they lack in finesse is made up for in enthusiasm and pretty soon hands are clawing at skin, muffled irritation at the layers between their bodies. 

The sopping wet shirts land on the floor next to the bed with a sloppy thump. Cas cradles Dean's head in his hands, fingers combing backwards through his short hair, stopping his assault on Dean's mouth to just  _hold_  him. Dean's hands still on Cas' hips. Their breathing is heavy and thick, too much emotion hanging in air around them. Closing his eyes, Cas clutches to the man he so nearly lost.  

Dean in turn presses his face into Cas' neck; he mouths gently at the stubble that's accumulated there over the last few days. His hands keep Cas close, rubbing cautious and erratic circles, ever mindful of the bruises developing over the muscle. He's still bleeding from his side, wounds obvious now he's been divested of his shirts. Cas pushes him away, passion slowed to careful movements. Their gazes lock for a moment, a million profound things pass in their silence. Cas' fingers drop down, turning them both to push Dean into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.  

He picks up the needle from the desk, attempting to thread the string through the eye with some difficulty. Scratch that, a lot of difficulty.  

Huffing a laugh, Dean gently holds his battered and raw wrists, taking the needle and threading it instantly. He shakes his head with a bashful smile, timid hesitation still evident as the red courses over his inked skin. Cas rolls his eyes, an apology hidden in there somewhere, pressing the sharp tip of the needle into the jagged cut across his ribs. 

It continues in easy silence, the puff of shared breaths somehow infinitely more intimate than the kisses they'd shared before. Cas is almost straddling him, gingerly poised on his bent knees. Dean leans his head back, an incredibly submissive and trusting gesture given recent events, making Cas' heart beat wild in his chest, like a trapped bird, fluttering and battering the walls of his ribcage. 

He doesn't understand why he was given this; perhaps this was his chance at life. When he had told Dean of the truth: of Zachariah, the Enochian, Michael, of reading John's journal, he expected nothing less than banishment. Not the concerned (albeit unsurprised) face of Dean Winchester asking him what he thinks they should do. All he knows is that he does not deserve this man. 

Green eyes look up at him in question. Cas kisses his nose, smirking as Dean twitches in amusement.  

Most of the cuts are shallow, simply bandaged along with his ribs. Satisfied once finished, Cas leans back, clutching Dean's broad shoulders. Head snapping up, Dean's hands track Cas' torso, leaving goose bumps in their wake; he brushes his thumb under his nose, wiping away the near dried blood that was there. The idea of a tender movement such as this from a pirate is lost on Castiel.

Cas leans in, fingertips rising to trace the constellation of freckles beneath the swollen purple and crimson. Sudden emotion catches in his throat, fear of loss and hate of pain crashing into him in a rush that leaves him lightheaded. He feels the need to protect; a possessiveness that he didn't know he could muster creeping up him. His hands still on Dean's abused cheekbones. 

"Dean I-" 

"I know." Dean cuts him off softly, pressing their lips together again. The hint of copper remains but is overcome by the heat and sensation of touch that Cas forgets everything else exists except Dean. Here, now, safe under his fingers. Pulling him further into his lap, Dean licks into Cas' mouth, earning him a deep moan that is caught between them.  

Dean slowly removes Cas' soaked trousers, doing so blind without properly changing Cas' position on his lap. He knows what Cas wants, needs, feels, he hooks his arms under Cas, ignoring the twinge of his shoulders, to press him into the hard mattress. He kisses him once, twice, trailing down his neck to the tattoo above his heart. Guilt sways into him, dampening, heh, the passion raging a war in his heart.  _It's now or never_. Standing, he turns with his back to Cas.  

In a swift motion, he pulls down his own wet trousers, stepping out of them but not turning back to face Cas. His chin drops to his chest, muscles tensing as the zig and zag of scars are in blatant view of the other man. Proof of how damaged he is scrawled across his skin, laid out for Cas to see. A spiteful part of him expects Cas to be disgusted, even though the strings of his heart pull in the opposite direction. Cas knows him, all of him, the bad, the ugly, the uglier - he's still here.  

There's the hotness of breath ghosting over his skin. The barely there scrape of stubble on the side of his neck. 

"I'm not leaving you." Cas rumbles. 

And hell if it doesn't carry through his hollow bones and into the void in his soul that he was sure would remain empty. The words draw out a whimper, of hope or painful anxiety he’s not certain.

"Cas... Cas I need you." 

It's not the words he wants to say. Although it is no less true. In realisation, he is staggered by the enormity of it. He is Dean Winchester. Pirate. Tyrant. Blunt little instrument. Yet, without a doubt in his mind, he needs Cas. In every way possible. He needs him beside him on the Impala, beside him always. He wants him safe, but he needs him _there_. Nearer than they are now, that's for damn sure. 

He is whipped round, Cas grabbing him consciously but with enough force that conveys his own feelings without words. Cas brings their hips together with a growl, pressing insistently into Dean’s mouth with his tongue.

Dean groans, hands finding the solid jut of Cas’ hip, the pads of his worn fingers dipping below the waistline. Pulling them both down to the bed, Cas straddles Dean properly wiggling them both out of their pants. Both rock hard, they gasp as their cocks brush past one another. Cas is about to take them both into his hand, wanting, needing, to feel the burst of pleasure again, but Dean stops him with the faintest of touches on his wrist.

He looks away, suddenly embarrassed. Cas leans down, littering his strong jaw with kisses.

When Dean turns his head, he looks unexpectedly determined, green eyes all but blotted out by his pupils.

“Cas I-“

“I know.” Cas grins cockily, surprising himself in that he actually does. These half conversations that keep happening remind him that he knows Dean better than anyone, can see when he’s angry or thinking or happy. Just like then, he recognizes the look in his eyes.

“Over there.” Dean indicates with his head to the table. Hastily searching the draw, he finds a small bottle of oil. Even though expected what Dean had implied, his breath stutters, body flailing to get back to the tanned expanse of skin.

He covers Dean’s body with his own, wishing for nothing more than to keep him safe; he can do that by being here. He gives him a torturously short kiss, Dean pouting sorely at the absence when Cas pulls away.

“You are loved, Dean.”

His eyes go comically wide at the suggestion and he is surely going to rebut that statement, so Cas cuts him off with another kiss.

“Not a word,” Cas rasps, licking a trail down Dean’s neck and biting softly. It would be nice to leave marks of pleasure rather than pain on his body. “Unless it’s my name.”

Winking, Cas goes back to peppering the tattoos and every piece of skin he can find that’s not covered with a bandage with kisses, occasionally sucking, swirling his tongue over his nipple (which gets him an eager buck of hips).

“Caaaas.” Dean is mewling by the time he reaches the trail of golden hair.

“You are worthy.”

Kiss.

“You are a good man.”

Kiss.

He opens the bottle and rubs the cool oil between his fingers.

Cas looks up. Dean is watching him, between his legs, fingers sliding down his cock, circling the rim.

Their eyes lock.

“You deserve to be saved.”

 He gasps as Cas presses a slicked up finger in slowly.

The sensation spreads up through his stomach, making his muscles tense and both of them groan loudly. That was just one finger, and Dean’s legs trembled a little in anticipation of more. Cas took his time; he teased Dean with one finger first before adding the second to gently scissor him open, pressing in deep until Dean gave gargled cry, rocking back onto Cas’ fingers.

“Oh my _fucking_ God!” Dean curses, head falling back.

“Don’t blaspheme.”

Cas kisses the insides of his thighs, black ink swirling over the scars. He traces the intricate patterns with his tongue that cover the rough skin, the taste of sweat and salt from the sea lingering when he sucks another hickey. He adds a third finger, stretching him wide and relaxing the muscles. Cas rubs and teases until Dean is leaking and almost begging for him to get on with it already.

“I _need_ you, Cas. Like right now.”

Cas stills. Fervently lubing himself up, he took the time to catch his breath, feeling the sweat damp and cool on his forehead and back.

He places a warm hand on his hip as he gently pushes forward. The blunt end of his erection presses up against his hole, hot and throbbing. He carefully keeps going, Dean guiding himself onto Castiel. He is tight, Cas filling him up as he slides inside.

“Dean.” Cas grunts once, warmth surrounding him fully.

“Cas.”

He waits for Dean to be comfortable, trying not to jostle him too much and aggravate the wounds.

It feels like nothing he has ever experienced before. He takes a deep, steadying breath and rests his head on Dean's chest for a moment. The heart beneath his sounds about as steady as he feels; it would have been easier for Dean to be on his front, if he wasn’t injured.

“You okay?” Cas asked quietly, smoothing his hands up Dean’s sides gently. He nods, shifting his hips.

“Oh... Dean.”

Cas starts to move slowly, rocking his hips back and forth. Dean grunts, pushing back in time with his thrusts, trying to get Cas to hit his prostate again. Castiel knew he wouldn't last long. It felt too intense, engulfing his senses in every way.

He mouthed sloppily at his chest, pressing kisses up and down his neck, as he bent his legs so he could dig his heels into the bed. The slight change in position allows him to thrust up against Dean in quick, shallow movements. It was just what was needed, apparently, Dean crying out on every other jerk of their hips.

“Holy fuck Cas!” Dean wraps his legs around Cas’ back, pulling them together even more.

He grips onto his shoulders, head ending up lolled into the junction between Dean’s shoulder and neck. One hand slides down to Dean’s erection to stroke him in time with his increasing thrusts.

Dean choked out as gasp of air. “Not gonna... Last.”

“Me either,” Castiel managed, collapsing forwards as he hits Dean’s prostate harder than before, causing Dean to cry out and come all over his hand. He continues to stroke Dean through his orgasm, scarcely maintaining a coherent thought as Dean constricts around him.

He starts to move his hips more, pulling out further and slamming in harder, enjoying the deep, throaty moans that earns him from Dean. 

“Jesus Christ!” He shouts, biting down onto the sweaty skin as he shudders; the pleasure still sweeps through him.His orgasm catches him off guard, coming hard and fast as he falls forwards into Dean’s chest.

Easing himself out of Dean, they lay there, a tangle of limps and bodies, their hearts racing and lungs burning.

Dean leans over the edge of the bed, pulling up one of their damp shirts to wipe them off. Cas must have dozed off, exhaustion swooping in the afterglow, because he can hazily feel himself be pulled under covers. He snuggles into the warmth under him, holding Dean close.

“Hey Cas?” Dean asks after a short time, fingers scratching lightly on the base of Cas’ back.

“Mhmm.” Humming, Cas scrunches his nose and buries it further in Dean’s neck.

“I got you to cuss in vain.”

He can _hear_ the smirk in Dean’s voice.


End file.
